Baptism of Fire
by Kin'ni
Summary: Formerly 'Weed' by Etienne. A tale told from three points of view. Join 4 people as they run headlong into their baptism of fire (among other things).
1. Default Chapter

Summary: A tale told from three points of view. Join four people as they search for the greater evil and fight to conquer it, encountering love, sex, murder, revenge, betrayal, the quest for domination, and the search for a place in the sun along the way as they brace themselves for their baptism of fire.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and anything related to it, nor are whatever things that you know (and have heard) of that you may encounter in the succeeding chapters mine.

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Baptism of Fire by Etienne

Chapter one: Only 17

            In his upstairs bedroom, in Number Four Privet Drive, Harry Potter, a highly unusual boy checked his wristwatch: one a.m. He bolted upright in his bed; he hadn't realized he'd turned 17 an hour ago. His stomach gave a slight lurch as he walked towards his window and peered at the figures approaching him, silhouetted against the moon. He stepped back to let a snowy female (his own, Hedwig), one grey tennis ball-sized, and one large brown barn owl inside.

            "Well, what do you know-," breathed Harry, a smile forming on his lips as he freed the smallest owl of its burden.

            Harry went over to his bed, untied the package on the minute owl's legs, and glimpsed his best friend, Ron's, untidy scrawl.

            Ron Weasley, a tall and well built young man with vivid red hair, and Hermione Granger, a clever, slender girl with bushy brown hair, were Harry's two best friends, who happened to also be a wizard and a witch. All three of them attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and were starting their seventh and final year in a week.

            Harry lived with his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Cousin Dudley. The Dursleys were Harry's only living relatives, who happened to be, much to Harry's misfortune and chagrin, muggles (non-magic people). They took him in when he was a year old, when his parents (a clever and powerful witch and wizard) were killed by the most powerful Dark wizard of that time, Lord Voldemort.

            When Voldemort turned to perform the killing curse on Harry, it rebounded on him. Voldemort fled, powerless and barely alive, while little Harry escaped with little but a lightning bolt-shaped cut on his forehead, and instant fame.

            Harry ripped open the brown paper on Ron's package, unwrapped a present in scarlet and gold and found a letter and card inside:

      _Dear Harry,_

_How are the muggles? Hope they aren't giving you much of a bad time. Listen, mate, I know you've heard this loads of times already, but, I'm really still sorry about what happened to Sirius. Merlin knows, Harry, no one deserves to have a good family more than you._

            Sirius was Harry's wizard godfather who was believed to be a convicted killer who escaped from Azkaban, the wizarding world's Alcatraz, until he died towards the end of Harry's fifth year, his name unredeemed.

                        _Anyways, Happy Birthday! Here's something I picked up from Fred & George's Chamber of Trinkets. I hope you like it! Hold on, I    KNOW you'll like   it!_

_          Come visit with us soon, Hermione's arrived here last week!_

_     From,_

_     Ron_

            Harry grinned, Hermione and Ron were his best friends, and he knew that no one deserved happiness more than they did, and he was glad they found it in each other.

He grinned wider when he picked up Ron's present: a golden snitch which flashed Draco Malfoy's face when he touched it.

"Damn it, Potter! Why do you have to be so good at Quidditch?" whined the little Malfoy, scowling up at him.

Nothing would cheer Harry up more than wiping the smug look off the face of Draco Malfoy, his arch nemesis, by beating him at Quidditch, which was in Harry's opinion, the best sport in the world.

Played on broomsticks, Quidditch was highly exciting, highly dangerous. Six hoops high above the ground, Quidditch was a bit like football and basketball, only with fourteen players and four balls-two bludgers, one Quaffle, a Golden Snitch. Three Chasers passed around the Quaffle, avoiding bludgers sent to them by Beaters, and tried to put it through the hoops. The Snitch, a tiny walnut-sized ball with wings, was extremely fast and hard to find, as it never stayed put in one place; its capture, which earned an extra hundred and fifty points, was the Seeker's difficult task. Harry was the youngest player picked for a house team in over a century, and he played Seeker and was now captain of the Gryffindor team.

Hogwarts had four houses, one from each of the four founders-Godric Gryffindor Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. Harry, Hermione, and all of the Weasleys (most of which have graduated) were sorted into Gryffindor. Malfoy, however, was a different case; he was in Slytherin, which turned out more bad wizards than any of the other 3 houses. 

            Harry turned to Hedwig and found that she had brought him a present from Hermione, along with a birthday card and letter, too, in Hermione's neat handwriting:

            Dear Harry,

                        Happy Birthday! How are the muggles? I do hope they're treating you all right.

                        I suppose Ron's told you that I'm staying at The Burrow. Honestly, I don't know how to break it off with him, ('break it off?' mouthed Harry, his eyebrows reaching his fringe) he's such a dear, sweet friend, I'm just afraid I'll end up hurting him. You know how           Ron is, he'll scream bloody murder!

            Harry grinned at this, shaking his head slightly before continuing:

                        Anyway, I got you something; I hope it's not too much.

                        We're going to Diagon Alley sometime this week to get some school things, any chance of meeting you there?

                        See if you could visit with us! Don't let the muggles get you down!

            Love,

            Hermione

            Harry picked up Hermione's present, expecting another study planner of some sort, but uncovered instead a sleek black pipe-like tube about six inches long, looking much like a baton. Puzzled, Harry twirled the tube around in his hands. Hermione wouldn't give him anything useless, that was for sure, he just didn't know what she'd sent him this time. Yet.

            Just as he was about to put the pipe away for more studying later, a slip of parchment fell out from the box:

The Darkcloud X250®

The revolution in racing brooms

The Darkcloud X250® is a sleek, compact broom engineered for fastest speed and pin-point precision all compressed in a six inch tube. Its handle honed from a superb combination of high polish rosewood, oak and acacia; its tail from Birchwood, willow and mahogany, the Darkcloud X250® provides maximum performance hand-in-hand with sleekness, style, prestige and comfort.

The Darkcloud X250®: Ball-busting free! ™

How to operate:

Each Darkcloud X250® broom is charmed to respond and conform to the owner. To test drive, hold the broom tube in your wand hand, extend outwards. The broom recognizes palm and finger prints, thus providing maximum security and performance.

Caution: This is a racing broom which responds to the slightest touch; thus, allow ample roaming and roving space for use.

What the Pros have got to say:

"The team switched to Darkcloud X250s, an' they're talkin' 'bout getting it for the World Cup. Yeh know, like an official broom or summat."- Aidan Connolly (Beater, Irish National Team)

"Yer know 'bout derr slogan? Vell, it really _is_ ball-busting free! I haf never come home from practice all sore in the you-kno-vat since I svitched to the Darkcloud X250. No that I have balls, that is."- Yulya Ivanova (Chaser, Bulgarian National Team)

"What d'you mean what do I think of the Darkcloud? It's bloody brilliant, that's what! It's the best bloody thing since self-laundering knickers!"- Artemis McKelvie, (Chief Quidd, World Quidditch Federation; Supreme Referee, Int'l Quidditch Association; Honorary member, Quidditch Fiends Society of Greater Britain)

©Worldwide racing Broom Corporation

London-Paris-Rome-New York-Milan-Hong Kong-Cincinnati-Manila-Singapore-Kuala Lumpur-Oslo-Hogsmeade-Seoul-Havana

            Another sheaf of parchment bore instructions on how to program another user for the broom. He put that aside, for the time he would let Ron have a go on his new broom, and thinking maybe he'd give Ron his old Firebolt as an early Christmas or birthday present.

            Harry let out a low whistle. "All right, Hermione," he grinned as he stretched out his right hand with the pipe in it.

            WHOOSH.

            A soft buzzing noise was heard when the tube expanded on both ends, not unlike a light saber, humming softly as it rolled off of Harry's hand onto the space next to him, suspended in mid-air, exactly at Harry's mounting height.

            Harry traced the now expanded sleek black body trimmed in silver and blood-red, from the handle down to the streamlined tail twigs, with bated breath and awe.

            He peered yet closer to the handle end of the broom, and sure enough, saw tiny, discreet silver letters forming: _Darkcloud X250® _and a serial number.

            Sighing and regretting that he couldn't take it for a test drive yet, Harry stretched out his arm again and the broom compressed into the six inch tube once more.

            After carefully putting away his treasured new broom, Harry walked over to the third and last owl. He knew at once who this owl came from, as it puffed out its chest in a very important way, and its package bore Hagrid's (the Hogwarts Gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher) handwriting and the Hogwarts crest.

            Hagrid had sent him yet another birthday card and a big birthday cake (bought, not homemade, thankfully), and some home made rock cakes (Harry put these away, in case he ever got _that_ desperate).

            He read:

            Harry,

            How're you? Are the Muggles treatin' you right? Well, have a Happy Birthday,             Harry!  I wish Sirius was here, you know, he an' your dad would have been mighty proud.

            See you September 1st! 

            Hagrid

            Inside, however, was another letter, this time, though, in brilliant green ink. It was Harry's supplies list for the coming term. He put this aside, for when he would visit with Ron and Hermione.

            Savoring the bliss that he felt, Harry succumbed to sleep, still thinking about broomsticks, snitches and birthday cake.

***************

            Harry awoke to the sound of Uncle Vernon shouting and banging on his door.

            "Wake up, boy! The day's wasting away while you lie there on your sorry bum! Eat your breakfast and go to work!" Uncle Vernon ground out.

            Harry sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. He reached for his glasses from his bedside table and put them on.

            Though some of Harry's "friends" warned the Dursleys not to harm or mistreat Harry in any way, the Dursleys have remained as grumbly as ever towards him.

            Grumbling, he grabbed the first shirt he found in his drawers, shoving his arms through the sleeves of a too large green shirt, then tucked it into his baggy jeans-both courtesy of Dudley, as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon constantly reminded him.

             Harry trudged out of his room and down the stairs, following the scent of frying bacon and eggs and blueberry pancakes and waffles with maple syrup to the kitchen. 

            As usual, the Dursleys completely ignored him as he sat at his usual place at the table. Uncle Vernon had his nose buried in a muggle newspaper; Dudley was munching on his carrot sticks while eyeing Harry's plate of bacon, eggs and pancakes which Aunt Petunia shoved in front of him. The Smeltings school nurse had provided him with a diet which they had followed meticulously since Harry's third year, even more after Dudley started taking a particular fancy (and not to mention training) for boxing. This year, though, Uncle Vernon demanded that only Dudley follow the diet, claiming that he was full of it, and that he couldn't spend another day eating "rabbit food."

            It was a rare and precious moment when Harry had the upper hand on Dudley (being that Dudley was roughly the size of a baby whale, only, he had muscles to show over his fat, and that underage wizards or witches weren't allowed to use magic outside of school), and, it being his birthday and all, he seized the opportunity at once.

            Harry slowly sliced a huge chunk of his pancake and swirled it slowly in maple syrup until it was all drenched up, and brought it to his mouth. Chewing as slowly as he could without actually sinking into a stupor, he finally licked the excess sticky maple syrup off of his lips before repeating the same torturous process with his eggs and bacon. By now, Dudley's eyes were watering and Harry was sure that drool was escaping out of the corner of his slightly open mouth. Harry sniggered to himself, thinking, _"I really should stop, I'm making __Dudley_ very unhappy. What the heck, it's my birthday!"__


	2. Break It To Me Gently

Chapter two: Break It to Me Gently

            "What?!" yelled Ron, his face turning into a nice plum color.

            "Well, it's really quite simple, Ron, once you analyse everything," explained Hermione in a timid voice, tugging at her bushy brown hair.

            "Analyse what?" shot back Ron, still not lowering his voice and furrowed brows.

            "Honestly, Ron, we're great friends, but, you know, ever since we got together, all we've been doing is bickering-"

            "But we've always done that!" cut off Ron, obviously exasperated and baffled by now, for he threw up his arms in the air, waving them wildly around.

            Hermione had to suppress a smile at this. 

            "But Ron," she continued, speaking as she would to a five-year-old, "that's a different case if that's _all_ we do. I mean, really, don't you think that if we were really such a good couple, we would have had more to this relationship than bickering? If we wanted to be bickering partners, we could've done it without actually going out, right?" 

            "Well, then," said Ron, pleading desperately with his eyes, "we could just, you know, stop bickering."

            Hermione let out a huff of breath slowly.

            "Ron, it's not that easy, is it, now? Besides, we were never exactly two for chemistry, were we?"

            By now, Ron's brows were furrowed in concentration. He scratched his head as understanding slowly crept into the corners of his narrow mind. 

            "I suppose you could be right. Not that I agree with everything you said, you know, I think you should think about this a little more, though…" 

            "Ron, I've been thinking about this for quite some time now. Did you think I'd bring it up if I weren't positive about this? You should know by now, Ronald Weasley, how my mind works," said Hermione, one brow raised, arms folded across her chest.

            "Oh, well, if you're absolutely sure-"

            "I'm sure, Ron," Hermione interjected quickly.

            Ron just heaved a sigh, "Well, since you're sure, I mean, you're probably right, you almost always are."

            Hermione couldn't help but release the breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding all along, as relief coursed through her.

            "Oh, Ron! You and Harry really ARE my best friends, and I love you both so much, you know, I just can never be _in-love_ with either one of you. I hope you understand," she said as she engulfed Ron in a big hug.

            "Er, Hermione?" Ron added uneasily. "This isn't about Krum, is it?"

            "Hmm? Oh, Ron, you honestly think I'm that kind of person?" Hermione asked, frowning a little.

            "You could let go now…" he replied rather stiffly.

            "Oh," was all that Hermione could mutter, flushing slightly as she stepped back. _You just had to make this harder, damn you, she thought. _Men and their pride. __

            Just then, Mrs. Weasley's voice boomed through The Burrow's rickety walls and halls.

            "FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!!!! Don't bother hiding your arses; I know you're behind this!!!"

            Curious, Ron and Hermione crept silently to the kitchen.

            Eyes growing wide, they had to clamp their hands over their mouths to stop from snickering out loud. On the kitchen counter top, Ginny (at least that's who Hermione thought it was) was sitting with a third of her hair shaven, what little bristles left on it dyed electric pink. The middle section was in a Mohawk, its tips electric blue and neon green. The last third however, retained Ginny's shoulder blade-length, only, it was now in thousands of tiny braids ranging from her original vivid red to purple to lemon yellow to orange to silver and a spectrum of colors more.

            They watched unnoticed as with a soft *pop* behind them, Fred and George sauntered into the kitchen, their lips twitching.

            "What did you do to her?!" screeched Mrs. Weasley, whose normally plump and kind face was now purple with vexation and barely suppressed anger.

            "Oh, it's brilliant, really," said George with the air of someone explaining the theory of relativity, "Fred and I have been developing this one for quite some time now. We call it Smashing Pumpkins-"

            "-because it's pumpkin juice that turns your hair aaabbsssolutellly SMASHING!" continued Fred with a flourish, chest puffing out with pride.

            At this, Ron let out a snicker, and Fred and George turned around to grin and wink at him and Hermione.

            Ron gave them a (what he hoped was) discreet thumbs up, making sure that Molly Weasley didn't see him. No such luck.

            "RONALD WEASLEY! I saw that! What your brothers did is nothing short of childish, immature, insensitive, oh, Hermione, dear, do come in. Have a spot of breakfast?" Mrs. Weasley said all this almost in one breath, her tone and facial expression changing swiftly from indignant and vexed to warm and welcoming. It was quite comical, really, but luckily, Fred and George knew better than to laugh at a time like this, lest they wanted to be shipped off to work with their older and more responsible brother, Percy, in the Ministry.

            "And you," she turned to face Fred and George who hastily put on innocent expressions that could fool no one (no one who knew them, at least), "You fix your sister up right now," she finished quietly, which meant that they better do as she says or else.

            Fred glanced quickly at George. "Um, well, mum, that's gonna be a bit of a problem-"

            "-you see," continued George, "we're still in the process of finding a de-smashing pumpkin…"

            "WHAT?!" bellowed Mrs. Weasley.

            Ginny, who up to now had been silent, spoke up.

            "Um, Mum, I don't mind, really. I think I'm rather fond of this 'do, if you ask me," she said in a timid voice, hoping her mum wouldn't chew out Fred and George too much.

            Mrs. Weasley looked at her only daughter quizzically. Finally, she expelled a long breath.

            "Well. I suppose if it's all right with you, dear," she said, too tired of shouting anyway, to think of suitable punishment for Fred and George.

            Honestly, who would think that these bulks of identical mass with vivid red hair and freckles all over (a Weasley family trait), who dropped out of school in their last year, would've grown into pleasant-looking young men? With their boyish looks and innocent smiles, no one would guess that the biscotti they were handed would turn them into Snape dressed up as Cher. Well, no one who didn't actually _know_ them, that is.

            Professor Severus Snape was Hogwarts' Potions Master. The head of Slytherin House, sallow-skinned, hook-nosed, and greasy-haired, he tended to favor students from his own House, and take points away from its rival House: Gryffindor. To see him in anything other than his usual black robes was amazing, to see him as Cher, moreover, was just too much too handle.

            Just as Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George were seating themselves at the Weasleys' dining table, a soft *whoosh* and some coughing was heard from the fireplace.

            "Harry!" squealed Hermione, running to Harry and almost knocking him over as she hugged him.

            "Uh, Hermione, gerroff!" grunted Harry, "I can't breathe."

            "Sorry," muttered Hermione, " I told Ron, he seems okay now, though," she whispered before letting go and stepping back from Harry.

            "Oy, Harry, mate! How'd you get here by floo?" said Ron, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

            Harry finished brushing off the soot from his shoulders before answering.

            "Well, you see, Percy owled me this morning, gave me some floo powder, and said that he had the Dursleys' fireplace connected to the Floo Network for an hour so I could stay here for the rest of the summer," explained Harry.

            "Hold on, Harry, I think mum's yelling caused quite some damage on my ears, as I heard you say **_Percy _**connected **_the_** **_Dursleys' _fireplace to the Floo Network," said Fred, sticking his middle finger into his ear and rotating it.**

            Harry chuckled at this. 

            "Well, while I could sympathize with the damage to your ears, I reckon it's still not enough to render your hearing faulty. Yes, **_Percy _**connected **_the Dursleys' _fireplace to the Floo Network so I could stay here."**

            "Right," said George, still with a disbelieving look on his face.

            "Looks like our uptight older brother is learning how not to be a git," remarked Fred snidely.

            In their fifth year, Percy walked out and all but disowned his family to side with then Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge. In their sixth year, however, Percy ate his words and came crawling back home, sobbing his apologies to the family.

            "I'll pretend I didn't hear that," said Percy from the doorway, as he appeared out of thin air.

            "Percy!" cried Ginny, rushing over to hug the third Weasley brother who, though older than the twins, was shorter by a bit.

            "Ginny?" cried Percy, taking in her new hair-do.

            It was only then that Harry noticed her, too, and he stood gaping at her.

            Ron noticed Harry staring at his younger sister and chuckled to himself before reaching out to close Harry's mouth for him.

            Snapping out of it, Harry turned to Ron and muttered, "Thanks."

            "Oy, Hogwarts letters," said Fred, tossing out envelopes to them.

            Many pancakes, waffles and sausages, (and bran flakes for Percy), they all prepared to set out for Diagon Alley.

***************

            Stepping out into the bright sunshine, and into Diagon Alley, Harry, Ron and Hermione broke away from the group to do some shopping of their own.

            About half an hour later, their money bags considerably lighter, the three of them sat down at one of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor's tables outside. Harry disappeared inside for a few minutes, and returned with three large bowls of triple-peanut-butter-and-chocolate-chip-mint ice cream with sliced bananas on the side.

            Ron and Hermione started to bring out their money bags.

            "How much, 20 sickles?" asked Ron.

            Harry pushed back Ron's money bag.

            "My treat," he said.

            "Wow, thanks, Harry!" exclaimed Ron and Hermione in unison.

            As they sat down, happily devouring their sticky afternoon treat, a shadow loomed on them from behind. They didn't have to turn around to find out who it was that drawled lazily at them.

            "Well, well, well, if it isn't Potty, Weasel, and Mudblood,"

            All three heads swiveled round to face their arch nemesis, Draco Malfoy.

            Malfoy was tall, almost giving Ron's six feet three inches a run for its money, and his popularity in Hogwarts, and not to mention money, rivaled that of the famous Harry Potter.

            Unlike Harry's unruly jet-black hair and vivid green eyes hidden behind black round-framed glasses, Draco had slicked back silvery-blond hair that reached his collar, piercing grey eyes and a flawless smooth, pale complexion. Right now, he exuded money, power and authority, standing in his impeccable black robes over an equally impeccably crisp white shirt and black slacks.

            Following Harry's help in getting Lucius Malfoy into Azkaban, Draco simply got nastier, if that were possible.

            At Malfoy's last word, Ron stood up, stretching his full frame and towering over Malfoy a good five inches. 

            "You take that back, Malfoy," he said, clutching his wand, his voice seething.

            "Why? Maybe **_you_** were brought up to lie, Weasley, but **_I_ was brought up to tell the **_truth_**," answered Draco coolly, almost sounding bored.**

            By now, Hermione was full of it. As if some inexplicable vengeful force drove her, she stood up and strode to Draco, grabbing the front of his robes and some of his shirt in the process. 

            Draco was too shocked to react.

            "Listen here, you pathetic little **_brat_**," she spat out the last word with disgust, "you are nothing but a sorry, Nancy-boy who likes bullying people he thinks are smaller than him, but likes to hide under his mummy's skirt otherwise, so if you mind, we were having a perfectly good time until you showed up and ruined it, as you always do. Now, leave before I do something we'd both regret."

            "Oohh," drawled Draco, shivering, "Potty and Weasel aren't man enough, and that's with them **_combined_**! So, tired of being the Gryffindor mudblood whore? What, purebloods aren't good enough for a muggle anymore? Or is it a Gryffindor issue? I didn't think that Gryffindors were so sexually deprived that you'd come running and grabbing me, hoping to "punish" me," he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, stressing the word punish in a way that left Hermione with a clear idea on what he really was saying.

            "Ugh," Hermione grunted as she shoved Malfoy away from her, revolted, "First off, I am a witch. Second, you are an insufferable git, Malfoy! I actually pity the Slytherins for having to bear with your presence every damn day."

            "Actually," smirked Malfoy while straightening his robes, "the girls find my presence actually _pleasurable_."

            Mouths already open with disbelief at this git's pompousness; their jaws dropped lower with horror as Malfoy removed his robes and took off his shirt, revealing a well-toned, firm chest and stomach.

            "Here," he said, tossing the shirt to Hermione and pulling on his robes over his naked upper body, "something for you to fantasize about, I can't wear it now, really. It's white; your mudblood dirt would show."

            Hermione was too busy staring and glaring at Malfoy that she failed to notice the thin white scars on his torso.

***************

            A week after the Malfoy incident, Hermione sat in her and Ginny's room, doing some last minute packing.

            Humming to herself as she folded and packed her clothes, she stopped abruptly when she came across Malfoy's shirt.

            Out of curiosity, she brought it up to her nose and nuzzled her face in its softness, inhaling Malfoy's peppermint and aftershave scent.

            Realizing what she was doing, Hermione jerked her head back and hastily tucked Malfoy's shirt into a far corner of her trunk. _Just in case_, she thought. In case of what, though, she didn't know.


	3. Wild At Heart

A/N: Hey, this is for Mimi, my first reviewer, who took a chance. And Phire Phoenix, you're a wonderful person. 

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter as well as the Jaguar XKR…or anything else related to it…them…whatever. You get my point.

Chapter three: Wild At Heart

            Draco stepped out of the "family carriage," a Jaguar XKR Convertible, and into King's Cross Station.

            Transfiguring his car keys into a smaller pendant version (which he then looped onto the thin, barely visible chain around his neck), he strode, his black trench coat billowing behind him as he pushed his trolley forward, to the barrier separating Platforms 9 and 10, and leaned casually into it.

            Almost all at once, Platform 9 ¾ materialized in front of his eyes, the Hogwarts Express right in the middle, steam blowing out of its glorious scarlet body.

            He strode to the train, lugging his trunk to a nearby empty compartment.

            "Watch it!" someone muttered from behind him.

            Whipping around, Draco's sneer quickly turned into a smirk as he came face-to face with none other than Hogwarts' new Head Girl: Hermione Granger. 

            "Well, well, what's the mudblood doing here alone?" drawled Draco, letting his eyes sweep her whole body from her head to the tips of her ridiculously high-polished loafers, to the shiny badge above her left breast.

            Hermione turned red as she felt Draco's appraisal on her body, but quickly struggled to keep her temper. After all, what kind of a Head Girl would she be if she couldn't handle simple situations as this?

            "Sod off, Malfoy. I was here first, and I'm waiting for Harry and Ron, so if you would kindly get out, I would appreciate it," she stated calmly.

            Malfoy just raised an eyebrow at this.

            "What makes you think that purebloods give way to mudbloods like you? Malfoys never give in, and Malfoys get what they want, and right now, I want this compartment."

            By this time, Hermione was holding on to her temper by a considerably thin length of thread.

            "Look, Malfoy," she started, her voce clipped, "I'm going to ask you one more time. As Head Girl, I am requesting you to leave, before I take points off for challenging authority."

            Hogwarts had a points system, much like a contest between the four houses, where, in the entire course of their school year, professors and the Head Boy and Head Girl, could take and award points to those deserving them. Only, what one person did inevitably affected a lot of people, as points were tallied by House.

            _I never think about when, _

_            I only think about where, _

_            There's nothing I wouldn't do,_

_            So don't tell me about any rules…_

_            Draco snorted. _

            "Go ahead, Granger. Take points off, I don't really give a rat's arse. Unlike _you, the rest of us normal people think that there's more to life than grades and points. So, in response to your __request,I must say no."_

            Now visibly shaking with suppressed anger at how accurately Malfoy hit home, Hermione, never one to back down, sat at the seat near the window, staring pointedly at Malfoy, as if saying "_Well? I'm obviously not leaving, so I suggest you bugger off."_

_            Draco scowled at this, and, him being a Malfoy and all, he too sat down, only opposite of Hermione._

            "What are you still doing here, Malfoy?" demanded Hermione, "Harry and Ron will be here in a bit."

            "I told you already, Granger, Malfoys get what they want, and I want this compartment," Draco drawled, raising his chin in a fashion which challenged her to annoy him further. "How daft can you get?"

            _I wanna be wild at heart…_

            "Well, I'm not leaving," snapped Hermione. "And Harry and Ron will be really angry when they find you in _our_ carriage. So, unless you want them to test some of the new hexes and curses they've been learning on you, I think it would be wise for you to step out of this compartment right now."

            Just then, the compartment door burst open and Harry and Ron rushed inside, both quite red in the face; bent over, clutching stitches at their sides, and gasping for breath.

            "Hermione-we're sorry we-took-so long-" Harry started in between breaths, oblivious to Malfoy's presence.

            "Yeah-we got waylaid-by mum-and Dad-they reckon that-we're going to do some-thing nasty-and bad-again this year that-could-get us into trouble-and expelled," finished Ron, still panting winded.

            Malfoy, who had remained impassive, now had his interest piqued.

            Hermione seemed to have picked up on this development as she coughed and got Harry and Ron's attention.

            "Um, Harry, Ron, we're not alone."

            "Huh? Who'd you invite Her-"

            "What in Merlin's name are you doing here, Malfoy?" shouted Harry, obviously forgetting that he was still out of breath.

            "I don't think that's any of your business, Potter. This is _my compartment, and your mudblood friend was just leaving," answered Draco, sneering at Harry._

            "I was here first, Malfoy, and you know it!" cried out Hermione indignantly.

            "You heard her, Malfoy. She was here first, so sod off," said Ron, straightening from his bent-over position, his breath regained.

            "Watch your tongue, Weasel. No one can make mo do something I don't want to do, and certainly no resident celebrity and his moneyless weasel can change that," hissed Draco.

            Harry and Ron whipped out their wands at the same time, but Hermione was faster.

            "_You watch what __you'resaying, Malfoy, or I swear I will hex you senseless, and I will deck points off for provoking me," snarled Hermione, gripping her wand and jabbing it threateningly at Malfoy's chest._

            Harry and Ron stared at her, their mouths slightly hanging open.

            Malfoy just stood there for a few moments, his whole body immobile and impassive, if not for the tell-tale twitching at the corners of his mouth, which one couldn't pinpoint if it was due to amusement or fear or simply irk.

            Hermione never lowered her wand, nor softened her glare, and after a few moments' hesitation, he spun around on his heels and strode out of the compartment, grabbing the handle of his trunk on the way out.

            As soon as Malfoy had slammed the compartment door closed, Hermione sat down at her vacated seat with a huff.

            "Wow, Hermione, we were ready to take Malfoy on, but what you did was so much better," said Ron with awe as he sat down opposite Hermione.

            "Yeah, I mean, did you see Malfoy's face? The sides of his mouth were twitching! Talk about doing a Professor Quirrell!" added Harry, plopping down next to Ron.

            "It's not as if I did something spectacular," said Hermione, trying to sound nonchalant. Then, seeing Harry and Ron's identical grins, she grinned, as well. "Well, I suppose I did, didn't I?"

            "Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, anyone?" asked Ron, chuckling as he passed around a small drawstring bag.

            "Ugh, crap!" exclaimed Harry rather suddenly, that Ron and Hermione jumped slightly in their seats.

            "Wha'ssamatter, Arry? Didjaleavesumfing?"

            "No," said Harry, "I meant it literally," he continued as best as he could, considering he was scraping off the remnants of the Every Flavor bean from his tongue using the hem of his shirt. 

            Ron and Hermione looked silently at each other, wide-eyed, and simultaneously burst out laughing.

            "It's not _that_ funny," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

            "Oh, yes it is!" snorted Ron, chortling, "It's worse than when Dumbledore ate an earwax flavored one!"

            Hermione just continued laughing silently, occasionally snorting; the tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes giving away enough proof of how hard she really was laughing.

***************

            The Hogwarts Express chugged to a halt at Hogsmeade Station, the only entirely wizarding settlement near Hogwarts.

            Harry, Ron and Hermione waited back a few minutes, as not to get lost in the sea of people all rushing out of the train in a steady stream.

            Harry stuck his head out of the compartment, and after checking out the train's single long corridor, he ducked back in.

            "All clear," he declared, turning toward the compartment door.

            Hermione and Ron followed suit.

            The three of them trudged towards one of the empty, seemingly horseless, carriages that would bring them to Hogwarts Castle.

            Harry knew better, though, than to think the carriages horseless. He saw what many others couldn't see; he saw and _knew_ what pulled the carriages. He knew that those bony, scaly, winged horses were called Thestrals, and that only those who have seen death could see them.

            "Firs' years come o'er 'ere!" bellowed Hagrid, his big bushy head clearly visible through the great mass that was Hogwarts' students, as he beckoned the first years for the traditional sail across the lake to Hogwarts.

            The carriage ride to the castle was bumpy, but thankfully enough, short. Soon, Hogwarts' massive wrought iron gates came to view, its magnificent winged boars visible through the thick evening fog.

            Harry, Ron and Hermione trudged up the slope to Hogwarts' magnificent Great Hall for the Starting Feast and Sorting Ceremony.

            First years put on the sorting hat before the Starting Feast to determine which House they belonged to.

            Harry and his two best friends made their way to the Gryffindor table, on the extreme opposite of where the Slytherin end of the Great Hall was.

            Just as they sat down, the Great Hall's massive doors opened, and Professor McGonagall strode in, her robes billowing snappishly behind her, as she led a long line of first year students (half of them scared out of their wits, a quarter of them positively shivering in excitement and anticipation, the rest impassive or indeterminable) to the front of the Great Hall.

            She brought out a four-legged stool, with the familiar patched Sorting Hat on it, and set it down where everyone could get a clear view of it.

            The first years watched with fascination as a tear on the hat slowly ripped open, and flapped, as the enchanted hat burst into song:

            "_A long, long time ago,_

_            Magic saw its finest four,_

_            Where they met, I don't know,_

_            But let me tell you more._

_            Godric Gryffindor, the bravest and the boldest,_

_            Rowena Ravenclaw, the cleverest witch of all, _

_            Helga Hufflepuff, the sweetest, though not the oldest,_

_            And Salazar Slytherin, who got his every beck and call, _

_            Founded Hogwarts and its Houses as they saw fit,_

_            So that's why you're hear,_

_            Don't start to knit, _

_            Perk up your shriveled ear._

_            I'm a hat, what can I say?_

_            I've sat here on this stool_

_            Night and day,_

_            If anything's about this school,_

_            I can't walk, but I should know._

_            For I'm no ordinary hat, you see,_

_            I delve into your feelings, high and low,_

_            Your thoughts you can not hide from me._

_            So sit back, relax, and put me on,_

_            Let me tell you where you belong!"_

            The whole Hall erupted into cheer as the frayed hat sat motionless once again on its stool.

            Professor McGonagall once again stepped to the front and unrolled a long piece of parchment. 

            "Once I call your names, please step forward, sit down on the stool, and put on the Sorting Hat," she said, adjusting her spectacles on her pointed nose, before proceeding to read from the list, "Avermann, Erin"

            "Slytherin!" shouted the Sorting Hat. 

            The whole Slytherin table burst into clapping and cheering as a tall and slender brunet with intelligent crystal blue eyes sauntered to join them, looking very much like he'd rather be anywhere than at Hogwarts.

            "Austin, Kathryn!"

            "Gryffindor!"

            The Gryffindors, led by Harry and Ron's loud whistling, welcomed their new housemate, a petite blonde, whose layered hair hung down her shoulders, and calculating emerald gaze swept over the table, scanning for an empty spot. Ron immediately shoved Harry, who was to his left, aside and waved for Kathryn to sit beside him.

            Hermione, who was sitting on Harry's other side, saw (and felt) this, and rolled her eyes heavenward, muttering something that Harry swore was _boys._

            "Becker, Holly ("Ravenclaw!")"

            "Carlson, Lene ("Ravenclaw!")"

            "Eckman, Troy ("Hufflepuff!")"

            "Garret, Wallace ( "Slytherin!")"

            "Garnet, Heather ("Gryffindor!")"

            "Lim, Élise ("Hufflepuff!")"

            "McCain, Ryū ("Gryffindor!")" 

            The Gryffindors clapped the tall, somewhat skinny, oriental-looking boy on the back as he sat somewhere near Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan's group.

            McGonagall read all the way down her list to "Watts, Ivan ("Ravenclaw!")"

`           As all the first years were Sorted and seated, she rolled up her scroll, gathered the Sorting Hat and its stool, and carried it out of the Hall.

            Dumbledore cast a glance upward at the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, which was starry tonight, before standing up to deliver his welcoming speech.

            "Welcome all, to Hogwarts!"  He boomed, getting everyone's attention.

            "Now, before we sing the Hogwarts song, start the Welcoming Feast and a new term, I have just a few announcements to make," he paused to make sure he still had everyone's attention. "Our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has added a new ground rule to the list already posted outside of his office. Next, as the older students know-and would do well to remember," he continued, twinkling eyes sweeping and lingering for the briefest moment on Harry, Ron and Hermione, "the Forbidden Forest is off-limits to students. That is all," he spread out his arms widely. "Tuck in."

            As platters upon platters of scrumptious steak and turkey, mouth-watering cream puffs, heavy steak-and-kidney pie, and generous portions of seven layer death torte found their way to Harry, Ron and Hermione's stomachs, Dumbledore cleared his throat and the food immediately vanished.

            "Before I send you off to bed for tonight, I would just like to take a moment to ask that this year's prefects and new Heads stay behind for a few matters of importance to discuss. That is all, off you go!"

***************

            Dumbledork better have a bloody good reason for asking us to stay. I bet whatever he has to say, the Heads could handle. I snort. Yeah, I'd bet my million-galleon trust fund Granger's just dying to do anything for the old coot. I wouldn't be surprised if one day, by some freakish occurrence that I actually come _near her things, I see her trunk full of photos of his crinkly arse. I snigger to myself, then stop myself abruptly, swiveling my head sharply to see if anyone heard. My eyes narrowed, I turn back, satisfied that the throng of students rushing out of the Not-So-Great Hall didn't notice me, of all people, laughing. Thank Merlin, there's only so much Father could, and would, forgive. Crabbe and Goyle simultaneously thump me on each of my shoulders, I guess that's their way of saying, "Good luck, mate, hope you don't get stuck doing anything too _good, _see you in a bit, then. Bye!" Then again, it could be something else; it's really quite hard to tell with those two dolts. _

            Walking to the head table, I see Granger and Weasel King walking in the same direction as I out of the corner of my eye. I pity their future children. It'd be tough for them growing up, big, bushy, flaming red hair. Tisk, tisk. Then again, when it's Granger and Potty or Weasel we're talking about, there's really much to pity about them…or not.

On the far end of the Hall, good ol' Al-butt was standing to one side having chitchat with some wizard in olive green robes. 

            "Sir," began the Head Boy. "You wanted to see us?"

            Quite. State the obvious and display your lack of tact Ernie boy. Or intellect for that matter. Makes me wonder how a wet rag like that made Head Boy. The headmaster's eyes swept over us. When his gaze lit on me, I stood up straighter, looking the bastard squarely in the eye. I fancied I could see him flinch, hating him for what he did to Father. Even so, I had to surreptitiously wipe some sweat from my brow. The heat you see- the old fool might think I was frightened.    

            "The Southeast wing has been completed," began Dumbledore. "work started immediately after the end of last term. Considering the events of last year, I thought it prudent that you all be briefed on the - " 

            "Headmaster," said Snape, who pushed through the massive oak doors just then. His voice had a strident ring to it. "Sir, I must protest. I implore you not to do this."           

            "Your objections are duly noted, Professor."

            Snape took hold of himself with visible effort. Still, his voice came out a touch strained. 

            "Sir, forgive me for my impertinence, but what, may I ask, is the _purpose of our __very elaborate precautions if-," again, he took a deep, slightly ragged, breath. "We might as well give them the keys to the castle!"_

            _Them? I mused. __Who's the old coot talking about now?_

            "And much good it will do them," observed Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. "Myself, I sometimes wish for their elevators, what with our stairways."

            _Elve-Ele-__what? I thought. Something muggle, maybe. Weasel's dad would have an orgasm the day he sees one, I reckon. An image came to me of just that, causing the beginnings of a laugh to burst out of me. Luckily I was able to turn it into a cough just in time.            _

            "Caught a bug Malfoy?" sneered Ron. "Oh, wait! _Ferrets_ don't catch bugs."     

            "A bit drafty, are we?" I shot back, smirking. "It seems like our _weasel's fur is getting moth-eaten."_

            Weasel-king looked down his robes to where my finger was pointing. Two patches were just visible near his hip, their color not quite blending in. His face flushed a satisfying crimson as he fished around for his wand. All the time, I noticed Bush-Head desperately hanging onto the back of Weasel's robes… _if you could actually call them that._

            I would have loved getting a rise out of Weasel King and showing him who's the superior one. I would've had a duel with him, if that git Dumbledork didn't interrupt, the slimy goody-goody he is.

            "That will be enough, Mister Malfoy, Mister Weasley." He turned to everyone else present. "We've come to the point where the dark and the light must face off, where the whole world faces the danger of chaos. Yes, the muggle world will suffer just as much as the wizarding world. We stand to face future peril, and we must stand united and prepared. I wish not to scare you off, but to warn you, and help you prepare." I listened to his _speech, trying to look disinterested. "You're all probably wondering who this man beside me is," the old coot said, pointing to the man in olive robes. "This is Professor Maximus Phelps, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Master. He wasn't able to make it to the Sorting due to unforeseen traveling complications." _Traveling complications?_ I mused. As far as I know, traveling complications are virtually unknown to wizards._

            "Now, the entire student body will look up to you all," he continued, looking at us, Prefects, and the two freak Heads, Granger and Macmillan, "when the time comes." There he goes again, talking about _that_ time. I fought to roll my eyes. "In these dark times, we must stand together, be beacons to your fellow students." _Beacons?_ What's gotten into the old prune? "Oh, and I have but a few more things to say before you all trot to bed. First, it is your duty to inform and remind the students that the Forbidden Forrest is off-limits. Oh, and point out Mr. Filch's list of forbidden items posted outside his office. I believe he's added Puking Pastilles and Skiving Snackboxes," he said, and I could tell he was somewhat amused. Figures. The old coot got along well with the Weasel twins. Sickening, really. He yapped again, "The second thing is about your patrolling schedules." He grouped together boys and girls from each year, including the Heads, from different houses. "Dennis, Ava, Clark, Christopher and Pansy, you patrol on Mondays. Robin, Ginny, Gavin, Brooke and Ernie, you get Tuesdays. Erin, Ron, Krista, Jack and Hannah, you get Wednesdays." And on he went. Granger got Fridays with some dorks and dorkettes from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, I think. I got Thursdays with a Slytherin, a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff. What luck I must have.

            I vaguely reckon I heard Dumbledore sigh before continuing. "Now, I believe you all need your rest for tonight. Off to bed, now."

            I restrained from shaking my head. _The old coot made us stay behind for some stupid constant vigilance thing?_

            As I turned to leave, I discreetly glanced at Professor Phelps. Odd. For some reason I can't shake off, I reckon there's something more to him than what meets the eye, and I swore I'd find out.


	4. Muggles and Dark Arts

A/N: Ceres Vesta- para sa 'yo 'to… sorry, but I don't fancy the idea of a Harry-Hermione relationship that's not purely platonic (kasi nababaklaan ako kay Harry). Kudos to all Filipino authors out there.

Chapter four: Muggles and Dark arts

            If the blinding light streaming through my window wasn't enough to wake me, I swear the sound of Parvati and Lavender padding about, getting dressed, would.

            Repressing a grunt of disapproval (which I'm sure they wouldn't be keen on so early on in the day), I swing my legs over the edge of my bed and trudge towards the bathroom for a quick shower, if I'm _that_ lucky.

            "Hermione, hurry up, will you?" Parvati calls out through the door, impatience evident in the unusual briskness of her voice.

            I hurriedly rinse off and get dressed. I hadn't realized I took so long in the bath.

            Coming out, I sheepishly mutter an apology to Parvati, who was, by now, tapping her foot on the floor.

            Thinking back on last night's events, I remember thinking something was _different about Professor Phelps. He seemed….I don't know exactly, just that he was odd for a wizard._

            Shaking my head, I sling my book bag over my shoulder and head downstairs to the Common Room to meet up with Harry and Ron so we could have breakfast together.

            "Morning!" calls out Harry, busy polishing his new broom so early in the morning.

            "Mm-hmm," mumbles Ron, who's beside Harry, tinkering with Harry's old Firebolt.

            Smiling, I try to drag them away from their brooms.

            "Come on, if we don't hurry there won't be any food left for us," I say, hoping my tactic would get them to leave their brooms. True enough, as I suspected it would, it works.

            "Well, what are you waiting for, Harry? Let go of your broom for a bit and let's go," says Ron, as if he wasn't doing exactly as Harry was.

            I roll my eyes, and he sees it.

            "What are you rolling your eyes at?"

            "Nothing," I reply. "Just marveling at how broomsticks apparently give people great big spaces where their brains should go."

            Grinning, I hurriedly step out the portrait hole before they realize what I said, wrestle me, and get us late for breakfast. _Again._

            I could hear them running after me, laughing like mad. 

            "You know we'll wrestle you one time or another, Hermione Granger!" Harry calls out, obviously panting from the combined effort of running, laughing and shouting.

            "Yeah, you better watch out!" hollers Ron, sounding a little less strained.

            Rounding the corner, I enter the Great Hall a good full half a minute before them and head straight for the Gryffindor table to the far right.

            "Oooohh…you're gonna get it, Hermione," pants Harry, dropping onto the seat to my right. 

            Ron forgot to make any threats as soon as he caught sight (and smell) of English muffins, bacon and eggs, and blueberry pancakes with maple sauce. He immediately plops onto the seat to my other side and piles food onto his plate, all thoughts of payback gone for the moment.

            Reckon that means I'm wrestle-free for now, then. Honestly, you'd think at this age, they'd have tired of wrestling me to the ground.

***************

             Ron _seemed_ to have forgotten about our chat back at The Burrow. He talks to me normally, if a touch strained. I did try to talk to him alone last night but before I could get a word out, he gives me this sullen, hurt look and mutters that "There's nothing to talk about." After that, Harry comes in and gives Ron the old Firebolt. Maybe I should try again tonight, but I doubt I could prise the two from their brooms even if I dance naked. But the hurt look he darts at me whenever he thinks I'm not looking is driving me crazy. A sigh escapes me. 

            "Something the matter?" Harry says, frowning a bit. 

            Frown lines are beginning to show at the corners of his eyes. Sometimes too, he gets this far-away look that scares me. When that happens he seems to age twenty years in a blink. There are days too when he forgets how to smile. 

            "Nothing," I reply, smiling a bit. "Just worried that you'll wear your broomsticks out from all that polishing. Maybe I could give you a hand?"

            Harry chokes on his pumpkin juice. Oddly, the two grow crimson and share a look above my head. Ron hurriedly stuffs some sausages into his mouth, thumping a still-spluttering Harry rather hard on the back with his sausage-free hand.

            "Honestly, Ron, one would think you never had any dinner last night," I say, rolling my eyes at his ever-bottomless stomach.

            I pick up my book bag and sling it over my shoulder, motioning for Harry and Ron to do the same. "If you don't want us to be late for," I pause, scanning my course schedule, "Double Potions with Slytherin, let's go."

            "Wow, Double Potions with Slytherin! I'm so excited! Let's go, Harry, we wouldn't want to miss that for the world!" says Ron, tugging over-enthusiastically on Harry's sleeve, disdain evident on his face; not to mention he was doing a bad impression of the cartoon "shiny eyes" (the eyes that cartoons on the telly get when they get something really great).

            Harry cracks up at this. I smile. I haven't heard him have a good laugh in so long, save for the recent ride on the Hogwarts Express. I find I like him better when he laughs, he doesn't deserve to feel so old most of the time. It's as if he hasn't anything to live for anymore. I reckon losing your parents and godfather (not to mention having the weight of the Wizarding and Muggle worlds on your shoulders) does that to a person, no matter how tough that person may be.

            We hurry off to the dungeons for Double Potions with Professor Snape. Honestly, I swear Professor Dumbledore, or whoever draws up the schedules, sets us up with Double Potions with Slytherin on the first day of school on purpose! 

            Sigh.

            We get there just in time. Our bottoms barely touch our seats at the back of the dingy classroom when Professor Snape bursts through the doors, his robes billowing loudly behind him as he strides briskly to the front of the room, immediately writing on the chalkboard. 

            Getting out my quill, inkpot and parchment, I sigh and get ready to take notes.

            All in all, Potions wasn't half bad. Professor Snape just docked off fifty points from Gryffindor, gave fifty to Slytherin, yelled at (and humiliated) Harry thrice and Ron and I twice each. I daresay this is one of his better days.

            Classes came and went fairly fast and Slytherin-less, thankfully. By lunchtime, Harry, Ron and I (not to mention every Gryffindor seventh year, as far as I could tell) are positively quivering with excitement. We have our first Defense against the Dark Arts class right after lunch. Too bad we have it with Slytherin.

            Oddly enough, Harry and Ron don't need nagging today, as they bolt down their lunches like mad. I reckon we should have Defense Against the Dark Arts everyday. That way, I wouldn't have to nag them constantly.

            Gathering our book bags, we head off to Defense Against the Dark Arts rather faster than we usually would our other subjects.

**********

            Professor Phelps stepped into the room and stood behind his desk.

            He took out a folded sheet of what suspiciously looked like ruled paper from his trouser pocket and proceeded to unfold it and call out names, ticking them off (with what Harry highly suspected was a ball-point pen) one by one in the process.

            "Bullstrode!"

            "Crabbe!"

            "Finnegan!"

            "Granger!"

            "Goyle!"

            "Longbottom!"

            "Malfoy!"

            "Parkinson!"

            "Potter!"

            "Thomas!"

            "Weasley!"

            "Zabini!"

            As the last name had been called for attendance, he shoved back the sheet of ruled pad into his back pocket.

            Facing the class, he asked, "What is a wizard's greatest weapon?"

            Everyone in the room exchanged glances, puzzled by the question, until finally, Hermione tentatively raised her hand and, pointing to her wand, said, "Please, Sir, I believe it's our wands."

            "Good answer, Miss-"

            "Granger, Sir, Granger," Hermione filled in eagerly, pleased that she had once again started the year off with an answer that was-

            "-incorrect, I must say, however."

            Practically the whole class thought they had heard it wrong, but Professor Phelps said it again.

            "It was a good answer, but wrong. The greatest power you have, like everyone else, lies here," he said, bringing up his right hand and tapping his index finger to his temple. "Everything starts here. Without this, you can't do much. You keep relying on your wands, and soon enough, one day will find you wand-less. When that day comes, what _will _you do?"

            Silence dominated the room; everyone was busy mulling this over.

            "Don't even bother writing to your Mummies and Daddies complaining that you can't use your wands because I'm warning you now, you won't be needing your wands in my class. All wands will be collected and kept for safekeeping at the beginning of each class by-" he paused, checking a folder on his desk, which Harry suspected was a seat plan, "Mister Malfoy."

            It was hard to tell who groaned louder-Harry or Ron.

            "As we have started, kindly come up one by one and bring your wands. Put them here now," Professor Phelps said, beginning to call out names alphabetically and placing the wands in an ordinary looking chest before locking it with a combination padlock.

            "Please Professor," began Hermione. "I'm afraid we weren't told what book we would be needing for your class. Would you have any recommendations then, sir?"

            "None, because we won't be needing them," answered Phelps with a smile. "This is going to be a practical course."

            Ron and Harry shared a glance, grinning. 

            "Sounds like Professor Lupin," observed Ron. Harry nodded his head. Professor Lupin, who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts during their third year was by far their favorite teacher ever.

            "Let us pretend that I am…," Phelps mused, stroking a knuckle along his jaw. "…Voldemort, the greatest dark wizard alive."

            A collective gasp rose from the class. Even Ron looked uneasy, shifting slightly in his seat. Harry grimly nodded, realizing that Phelps was all business. He glanced at Hermione, who looked a bit startled but was otherwise nodding too.

            "Er," Neville quavered. "You mean **_You-Know-Who_** don't you, sir?"

            "No," Phelps replied, eyes narrowing. "I mean **_Voldemort_**." His gaze swept over the class, pausing briefly on Harry and Hermione. He added reproachfully, "It's about time you started using his name properly. Invoking his name gives you power over him- as wizards you should know that."

            At that, the class exchange puzzled looks, Malfoy trying to look like he knew all along.

            "I see that this is new to you all," remarked Phelps. "Names belong to you and you alone. Being such an intimate part of you, they become more than just words- they become magic at its most primitive, its most elemental and thus its most powerful. All sorts of things can be done to a person just by knowing his name. Apellomancy, Demonology and Necromancy all require the use of specific names. Malumency, the summoning of demons requires the practitioner to know the true names of the demons he will summon, making them write their names in a book which he keeps. When summoning, indeed it is important to not let the demon know your name as that knowledge would allow him to escape your will and turn on you."

            "Well," Malfoy drawled. "If it were that easy why hasn't _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named conked out yet?"_

            "If he were so stupid," Ron snapped. "That he wouldn't take precautions, he'd be _you instead of the greatest dark wizard alive."_

            "What's that supposed to mean, Weasel King?" Malfoy sneered, going quite red in the face.

            "That would be quite enough, Mister Malfoy and Mister Weasley," Phelps interrupted before Ron could retort, "I'm sure the class would love to see your highly interesting and _trivial_ discussion some other day, but for now, let's get to work. Everyone from this side to this end," he continued, drawing down an imaginary line separating the class from the middle to the right, "push your desks to the right end of the room. The rest, do the same, but to your left." After this had been done he continued, "The person opposite you is to be your training partner for the rest of the year."

            Ron's bewildered "_Training partner?_" was lost to Malfoy's indignant cry of, "I will not _train with some bushy-haired mudbl-"_

            CRACK. Malfoy landed unceremoniously on his face with a sickening crack, courtesy of Hermione's leg, which had lashed out and connected with the back of Malfoy's knees.

            Pushing himself up to a kneeling position, Malfoy faced Professor Phelps and bit out, "You're not going to stand there and pretend nothing happened, are you? You saw what the wench did!"

            "What? I thought this is what Professor Phelps intended for us to do," retorted Hermione.

            "Despite your lack of respect Mister Malfoy, I'm afraid you have a point. Five points from Gryffindor for unnecessary violence. But yes, Miss Granger, that was _exactly what I meant by training. Malfoy, come up here."_

            Draco warily stepped up to the middle of the room, coming to a halt directly in front of the intimidating professor, eyeing him somewhat shiftily.

            WHOOSH. Malfoy found himself having a staring contest with the floor for the second time of the day.

            "Get up," ordered Phelps. Malfoy did so, grudgingly; his eyes narrowed in mildly suppressed anger.

            This time, when Phelps' leg swept in, Malfoy jumped back. "Well done, Malfoy," he said. "But what about this?" His other leg snapped up, the instep of the foot stopping barely an inch from a shocked Malfoy's cheek. Ron sniggered.

            "Funny is it Weasley?" Phelps called out, turning to where Ron stood. Barely visible, his fist shot out in a blur coming to rest on the top of Ron's nose. "You are all slow and useless without your wands- a fact which the Headmaster has noticed. I am here to remedy that."

            "I don't see the relevance of this," Malfoy muttered. Phelps stalked over to where the wands were being stashed.

            "Get your wand Malfoy," he ordered. When Malfoy had done so he added, "_One hundred points to Slytherin if you can hex me." Malfoy looked unsure._

            "_Two hundred points then."_

            "Sir, your wand…?" someone called out. 

            "Come on boy," he taunted. "Can't do it? Little wuss, little wuss…"

            At that, Malfoy's wand shot out as he cried, "_Dolorus do-_ Argh!" His wand flew across the room, landing with a clatter in a dustbin. Phelps began coiling the whip he had so suddenly used, coolly watching Malfoy inspect his hand. "You see the relevance now? You have come to see your wand as the be-all and end-all. I will teach you how to win without a wand, to seize victory just when your opponent thinks you are defenseless."

            The class stared at him in awe, even Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy looked shaken.

            Phelps continued, "Professor Dumbledore has informed me that starting tomorrow, all seventh years are to assemble at the Entrance Hall at five-thirty in the morning for training. This will be until seven-thirty. In addition, all my seventh year classes will be double ones. The attire you will wear tomorrow morning will be provided by your respective Houses, and I am told that you will find them in your common rooms after supper. That is all for today- class is dismissed." 


	5. Note

Hello all,

I know in the back of my mind that posting an author's note as a chapter is probably not permitted here, but desperate times call for desperate measures. If someone reports me and takes my work or my account down for this, I'm fine with it.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I started this story YEARS ago (in my senior year of high school almost 3 years ago) and only later posted it here. After reading Cassandra Claire's Draco Trilogy (actually, Dormiens and Sinister at first), I was dead set on writing a really good and BELIEVABLE Draco/Hermione fanfic. It was set in stone that I would be the one to battle all clichéd plots out there and the silly, desperately unnatural ways the two are forced together. Sadly, I don't remember how or when, I stumbled upon slash and I lost heart in the Draco/Hermione ship. I just couldn't see it happening in canon anymore. It's firmly etched in my mind (and I'm really happy with it) that Ron and Hermione are meant for each other.

I will stop my ramblings before I inadvertently start a shipwar. Please don't hurt me!

Hem. The gist of what I'm trying to say (ineffectively, mind you) is that I don't know if I should continue with this. It's not in me to force myself to write something I don't believe in. My writing is part of my life, and my life is part of my writing.

The thought of taking this particular fic down and tweaking it and turning it into my (current) ship of choice has seriously been considered. But half of me says it's cheating…myself and the readers. The other half says to heck with it. I dunno, really. I am one confused bugger.

Help.

Away laughing on a fast camel,

Kin'ni/CruxAustralis


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